Freedom

Currently listening to:


As I've continued reading on in Desmond Tutu's, "Book of Forgiving," I've made a conscious effort to highlight the word "free" every time it pops up.
Free, freedom, freeing -beautiful words.  Words I want in my life.

About a year ago, I was aching over some family stuff -hurting over the choices a loved one was making.  I love them so much, and I was watching them make some crazy choices... I think what hurt most of all was knowing that the choices they were making were pulling them farther from me.  They'd already been pulling away, and I was missing them as it was.
They were actively pulling away.
One night, it was hitting me hard.  The ache hit hard.  I couldn't sleep, and I just started praying.  Tears flowed.  I can't say whether I cried or prayed myself to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up and rolled out my yoga mat.  I sat in silence, my eyes closed.  I created some space in my mind, and as I did, I felt God speak.
"That which we seek, we shall find."
Yes.
Simple.
God always speaks to me like that.

My loved one was finding the life he was seeking, and I have the power to seek my own truth and stand in it, even if I sometimes shake, even if I sometimes fall, even if I scare others.

Benjamin Franklin said he spent his life seeking truth, and I feel like most of us are out there doing the same thing.
John Jaques penned what became the lyrics to "Oh Say, What Is Truth":

Oh say, what is truth? 'Tis the fairest gem
That the riches of worlds can produce,
And priceless the value of truth will be when
The proud monarch's costliest diadem
Is counted but dross and refuse. ...

Then say, what is truth? 'Tis the last and the first,
For the limits of time it steps o'er.
Though the heavens depart and the earth's fountains burst,
Truth, the sum of existence, will weather the worst,
Eternal, unchanged, evermore.

Truth and freedom seem -to me -to be synonymous.  Freedom is truth, Truth is freedom.
Forgiveness pals around the same block.

As I've delved deeper into Tutu's recommended meditations, journaling exercises and stone rituals, I've found forgiveness and some miraculous healing.

A dear friend of mine recently said she feels like having a relationship with Christ reminds her of the "kissing scene" in Hitch where Hitch tells his buddy, "you go 90%, let her go 10%."
God goes 90%.
The work I've been doing has been my 10% and over the weekend, God showed up 90%.
It was breathtaking.

I was able to release pain I didn't even know I was holding.  Was it while I was journaling?  Or meditating?
No.
Though I believe both practices are key healing tools.

It was because I was seeking.
I was journaling, praying, meditating, seeking.  And then I was living.  Showing up for life, for my messy house and busy kids.  Showing up for my health as best as I could.

And in the middle of the showing up, a miracle happened.
An unplanned, unscheduled organic miracle.

And today, I feel the serenity of freedom.

What Forgiveness is Not

I am angry this has been done to me. I am sad and I am lost. I may never forget what you have done to me, but I will forgive. I will do everything in my power not to let you harm me again, I will not retaliate against you or against myself. (Tutu "The Book of Forgiving" Chapter2).

Reading through Chapter 2 of "The Book of Forgiving" helped me break through some realizations of why I don't forgive.

In the journaling exercises at the end of the chapter, I was asked to list what I would have to let go of in order to forgive.  What emerged surprised me.  I've felt prompted to work through these exercises, but I'm being honest when I say that I have had very little expectations of healing.  I've always believed that forgiveness just... wasn't for me.  As I answered these questions, the truth that came out was hard to write and read.

From my Journal:

Things I need to let go of in order to let forgiveness in:

Pride
Ego
Expectations of Offenders

• That there will be remorse 
• apology 
• changed behavior 
• and/or gratitude for my forgiveness

False Beliefs about Forgiveness

• That forgiveness is an inaccessible fantasy
• the idea that my forgiveness is a gift to someone else 
• that to forgive means to forget, that by forgiving I am setting myself up for pain and not protecting myself 
• that I can forgive on my own

Entitlement

• of an apology 
• of acknowledgement/ownership of behavior from the offender

Shame

• that because I struggle to forgive, I'm not worthy of giving or receiving forgiveness.

That last one just about took my breath away.  So much shame. I struggle with believing that IF forgiveness is real -tangibly real -then I am not worthy of it in any form.

By simply writing that out, I can already feel the truth of it shifting deep within the confines of my scared soul.

In Chapter 2, Tutu continues:

Just as we take a leap of faith when we make a commitment to love someone and get married, we also take a leap of faith when we commit ourselves to a practice of forgiving. We do not forget or deny that we are always vulnerable to being hurt again, but we leap anyway.

Tutu and My Little Warrior Woman

I watched Wonder Woman last Thursday and cried because of so many right reasons.  Thursday was the 4th day of this new cleanse I'm doing.
I've never done a cleanse before, and I think as part of working my Step 7 (humbly asking God to remove my character weaknesses), God has basically just targeted everything I used to scorn and mock and brought it front and center into my life.
That means I'm gluten free too, folks, in case you're keeping track.

As I began this cleanse, hoping to give my intestines space from irritants and give them a spa day to heal, I was terrified.
I use food for comfort and fun and rewards.
Today, I'm one full week in and the effects have been really hopeful.  For the last two years, I've only felt let-down by my body, as if it had lost the ability to heal and was only trekking downhill toward knee replacements and pain-pill popping.  But one solid week in, and my body is responding really well.  My joint inflammation has been significantly reduced, and I've sluffed off some (what I think is water) weight.  I feel light, in every sense of the word.
Darkness and heaviness are exiting stage left.



A few days into my cleanse, God reminded me that last summer I read Desmond Tutu's, "The Book of Forgiving." (affiliate link) It comes with meditations and journaling exercises that I avoided last year, but this year, God said, "It's time."
I've taken full advantage of this cleanse by exercising at least 20 minutes per day and making my daily morning meditation practice non-negotiable.
God is calling on me to HEAL MORE.  This is shoulder-to-the-wheel healing time.

In order for me to heal fully, I need a safe space.  I can create my own safety -something I didn't know 7 years ago. Right now, I've added some definite boundaries in my life because I can cleanse for weeks and forgive 70 x7, but if I'm not safe, I will never fully heal.
Because My Little Warrior Woman comes out and won't sleep.  I can't heal unless she's asleep.

When I'm not safe, she comes out.  She fights.  It looks and sounds like control when she comes out.  I try to manage the level of pain that's inflicted on me and my kiddos.  I fight, I shield, I protect.
She's my mini-wonder woman.
I love her.
BUT
I can't HEAL with her on the warpath.  She only comes out when I'm in unsafe territory, and this means for me to walk the path of healing, I gotta get OFF the battlefield.  Create my own safety instead of waiting for the enemy to stop firing, if you know what I mean.

So last night and this morning, I did.  Boundaries set, battlefield in the rearview.  My Little Warrior Woman is sleeping now.

Healing can commence.

As I've delved into Tutu's "Book of Forgiving" for the second time, I'm really just pleased all over again.
I'm not good at forgiving.  I'm really not.
This book has given me a "HOW" behind the whole entire process without an ounce of shame.  Nowhere in it's pages are the words, "You were raised with a Bible in your home and you don't GET THIS?!  You must be an idiot."
Over and over, Tutu affirms that forgiveness isn't easy, sharing his own experiences and those of his loved ones.
A few stand out quotes I wanted to share from the first chapter.
Speaking of Christ, he states:

He must also have been able to obliterate the signs of the torture and death he endured.  But he chose not to erase that evidence.  After the resurrection, he appeared to his disciples. In most instances, he showed them his wounds and his scars. This is what healing demands. Behavior that is hurtful, shameful, abusive or demeaning must be brought into the fierce light of truth.  And truth can be brutal. In fact, truth may exacerbate the hurt; it might make things worse. But if we want real forgiveness and real healing, we must face the real injury.

That quote struck something in me -I'd never, ever thought of Christ's scars in that way. He showed his wounds and scars.  Healing demands that we show them, maybe not publicly but we must face them.  We must speak them.  That's how forgiveness starts... by simply looking at the truth of what happened to us and bringing it into the fierce light of truth.

At the end of the chapter, there is a beautiful poem in which we find the words:

"...I am bigger than the image you have of me. 

I am stronger.

I am more beautiful.

And I am infinitely more precious than you thought me.

I will forgive you.

My forgiveness is not a gift that I am giving to you.

When I forgive you,

My forgiveness will be a gift that gives itself to me."

I have ben practicing the recommended mediation in the chapter -it is helping me to visualize forgiveness in a way that I feel is helping me to spiritually create it, even though I haven't physically done it yet.
Tutu also includes a "Stone Ritual" at the end of every chapter.  He recommends selecting a stone to use while reading and working through his book.  I chose to use a hunk of rose quartz because it's pink.
And I like pink a lot.
Pink and sparkles.
I bought a sparkly journal just to go with my journey through this book.  As Tutu says, it is my own "book of forgiving."

For the first "Stone Ritual," I held my rose quartz in my hand for 6 hours (it ended up being seven on account my sleeping through a few of those hours) in my non-dominant hand.  I did that yesterday and then answered some questions about it today.

It was a really cleansing experience for me.  The exercise also has you list people I would like to forgive and those I would like forgiveness from.  I've been stuck on Steps 8/9 (making a list of all people we have harmed and become willing to make amends to them all and then go forward and make those amends) for over 2 years, and this book might just be the game-changer for me.

It just might.

God has led me to it.

I'm cleansing in so many more ways than one.

From my own book of forgiving:

#5) In what ways was carrying the stone like carrying an unforgiven hurt?

Carrying the stone is like carrying an unforgiven hurt because it hinder and binds me.  There is a certain freedom in forgiveness that I can't access right now.  I'm learning from resentments and anger, but only that I am anchored to a cause I do not believe in at my true core.  And holding the stone was literally stinky, just like holding resentment is figuratively stinky. I am capable of carrying the stone, just as I am capable of carrying resentments and anger and victimization. But carrying the stone hindered my routine health and well-being practices (like dishing up food, interrupting my sleep, making it hard to open my water bottle, and messing with my bathroom time), and carrying resentments, anger and victim-thinking also interrupts the natural flow of my health and well-being.  I've never known life -can't remember a time -when I had access to the freedom forgiveness and grace offer.  I have said that I fear losing my freedom -facing bondage of any kind -but I live in the bondage of "hinderment."

Out of Captivity Into Good

I've been reading up a bit on the story of Joseph and his brothers... I want to get into the meat of Moses' story, and Moses' story really begins with Joseph.

I didn't intend to get anything out of Joseph's story, really.  As I cracked open my Old Testament, I really felt like I was just perusing an intro... so I was surprised when I was stopped in my tracks at Joseph's words.  I was surprised to find that I NEEDED Joseph's story more than I needed Moses' story right now.

A few months ago, my mother confessed to me that my Dad had made a remark to her about my light. 
"It's gone out," he said.  His words echoed a blessing he'd given me, "Alicia, you have many people around you who love you and are worried about you.  They can tell something is wrong.  The light you carry with you has been dimmed..."
He went on to promise -through the grace of God -that light would be restored.

Before I met Danny, I didn't give too much thought to what others thought of me.  I wore crazy clothes and I did crazy things.  I didn't get into trouble, but I was comfortable with how unconventional I was.  I made friends with like-minded people, and my last year of high school and first year of college were so precious to me. 
It's safe to say, I think, that during that time my light was burning brighter than ever.

My high school was down the dirt road from the house I grew up in, and we always ate breakfast as a family (though dinner as a family was harder to muster).  I'd often stroll out of the house wearing whatever struck my fancy that day: sarong over capris, a skirt with a tee, a bright orange scarf...
One day I bounded out of the house wearing a sheer (but shiny!) light pink over-sized button-up shirt (over a white shirt) and my hair done up in double buns on my head.
My Mom told me later that day that as I'd walked proudly to school, she'd told my Dad that I looked ridiculous.
"I think she looks classy," he said.
He said the same thing about my pink Superman beanie.
Dad was a pretty classy guy himself.  He has always paid careful attention to his appearance when it mattered -not so much on the pasture, under a car, or standing over a cow he's branding/milking/herding... but at church.  He always dressed so nicely.  His boots were often polished, his shirt pressed.
Basically, this made his closet perfect for raiding because -you guys -he SAVED ALL OF HIS WESTERN CLOTHES FROM THE 70's.
And though he made little attempts to connect with us as teens (he really had no idea what to do with us when we turned 11)... he would always give a loving nod to his flowered-up Wrangler shirts getting a second chance at fashion.
"Nice shirt."

Reading Joseph's story reminded me of my own Father -how proud he'd been of my "classy" taste in fashion, my fearless bird-flipping to Calvin Klein and American Eagle.
When I married Danny, there came into the picture a change... he understood fashion and matching and the whole "belt and shoes must be the same color" thing.  He helped teach me the ways of matching, and I was truly grateful.
Except in the course of learning matching, I lost a piece of my light.
As time went on, I wouldn't get dressed without Danny's approval.  His addiction and my wanting to please became entangled in a dysfunctional lust affair, and it didn't take long for me to feel as if I'd been taken from my father's house, had my flair ripped from my back... I felt like I was in a pit, trapped and scared, and the one who helped me find my way down was someone I had loved dearly and trusted with my life.

I felt as if I'd been bought by the porn industry -it ruled me.  I competed, idealized... It took over my choices, my life.  I dressed according to media expectations.
I listened to Brene Brown's TED talk, "Listening to Shame" and felt a little ill when she said:
" ...some research by Mahalik at Boston College. He asked, what do women need to do to conform to female norms? The top answers in this country: nice, thin, modest and use all available resources for appearance."

That's the industry that bought me: unrealistic expectations for appearances and sexual relations as well as a warped definition of the word "perfect."

As I climb out of the prison and back up the ranks of emotional, spiritual, mental and physically healthy living,  I find the flickering light inside of me beginning to spark.
Each time I go with my gut, the flame burns a little brighter.
Each time I give into fear, the flame dies down.

It's some kind of dance filled with fine lines and grey spaces.

It's hard work, and sometimes I want to give up.  Sometimes I DO give up.  Sometimes I spend a day behind closed blinds numbing out with movies and snacks.  
But the progress is real.

I'll never forget the first time I saw a Cosmo magazine... I mean REALLY SAW IT.  I used to "see" them and feel longing, sadness, "I'll never look like that."
For the first time, I SAW the Cosmo magazine and realized the lies my brain had been believing as truth.
The woman on the cover was unnatural because she'd been altered.  And it was unattractive.

My appetite for reality -for the beauty in God's creations AS IS seems to be insatiable.  Every time I see crow's feet or freckles, moles and thick thighs with pock marks... I breathe in the LIFE and think, "God is truly amazing."

I can see the lies. 
I am returning to truth -to God.
  
Like Joseph of old, I have my Heavenly Father restored to me.  Recently, my father remarked to my mother, "She's back.  She's come back again."

I had lost my father -what's more: he had lost his daughter.  What a painful, preventable tragedy.

After Joseph's earthly father passed away, his brothers were afraid of Joseph's vengeance.
From Genesis:

 15 ¶And when Joseph’s brethren saw that their father was dead, they said, Joseph will peradventure hate us, and will certainly requite us all the evil which we did unto him.

 16 And they sent a messenger unto Joseph, saying, Thy father did command before he died, saying,

 17 So shall ye say unto Joseph, Forgive, I pray thee now, the trespass of thy brethren, and their sin; for they did unto thee evil: and now, we pray thee, forgive the trespass of the servants of the God of thy father. And Joseph wept when they spake unto him.

 I remember a time when Danny asked me to please read, "The Peacegiver."  I'd read it before.  I didn't feel as if I SHOULD read it again, but Danny was insistent.  I finally gave in.  He seemed impatient for me to read, to make it through.

"Did anything stand out to you?" he would ask.

It turns out, he was wanting me to forgive him.  

"Forgive, I pray thee now..."

Joseph's response is insightful:

18 And his brethren also went and fell down before his face; and they said, Behold, we be thy servants.

 19 And Joseph said unto them, Fear not: for am I in the place of God?

Joseph recognizes his role.  He recognizes that he is not God, and his brothers have need of seeking forgiveness from God more than they have need of seeking the forgiveness of Joseph.

For so long, I felt as if Danny OWED me this apology.  I truly believed Danny had sinned against ME and only me.  It makes sense that I felt this way because I had often put myself into the role of Savior, constantly trying to save Danny from his own addiction... each time Danny acted out it felt more like he was sinning against ME because I exchanged my own progression for saving Danny.

He then goes on to say:

 20 But as for you, ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive.

 21 Now therefore fear ye not: I will nourish you, and your little ones. And he comforted them, and spake kindly unto them.

That passage hit me hard yesterday... the line, "God meant it unto good."

 

I look at my life now, my perspective, my relationship with God, my new found friends, my light, my core, my LIFE.

God meant it unto GOOD, and it IS good.

I think of those who have gone before, how they have helped to rescue me and "save much people alive."  So many people have endured so much abuse, hate and horrors and go on to "save much people alive."

It's Step 12.

My Heavenly Father and My Earthly Father have been returned to me, and I feel the sweet nectar of forgiveness.  I see how God is God in all of this -God will take Danny and I can let go of Danny.

I can hand back "The Peacegiver" and say to him, "Fear ye not."

 

I may not have my crazy clothes back, just as Joseph may not have his coat of many colors... but I have freedom.

And with this freedom, I will live and nourish and comfort and speak kindly.  With this freedom, I will seek to cleave unto God, and though I will fail as mortals do, I will simply keep practicing.

Today I will practice by staying home with my sick child, looking in the eyes of my toddler and pray for forgiveness.  I will take care of my body by treating it a detox bath and some healthy food.  I will pray my latest favorite prayer, "What you do have be do today?  Who would you have me serve?"

And I will embrace my free spirit, even if that means the living room doesn't get vacuumed.  

I will let freedom be the theme of the day -in Christ, I am free.

 

The Death of the Sitcom Baby

 

(via hammillpost.com)

Sitcom Babies are so convenient. 

They're only around when they're needed for the plot line, and other than that... we rarely see them.  They're with nannies or grannies or never mentioned.  I sometimes even have, "oh, yeah!  They have a baby!" moments.
Even Grandpa Gellar (from Friends) forgets -at the birth of his sitcom grandgirl -that he has a sitcom grandson, because WE NEVER SEE HIM.
But he's there.

That was my recovery.  It was convenient and pulled out when my story needed it.  As the old saying goes, "I worked my recovery around my life, not my life around my recovery."
I didn't know then that recovery in it's truest form isn't convenient AT ALL.
I didn't know then that recovery is much, much more about well-being than comfort.
I didn't know then that someday recovery would cease to be a sitcom baby and would blossom into a fully-formed infant.

Guys, I'm not kidding when I say recovery has come on the scene like a kicking, screaming new baby... fresh home from the hospital.

I feel like a first time Mom -losing sleep, aging, wondering what life was like before recovery, knowing that my life would never go back to the way it was before recovery entered the scene.
And just as my joy is deepened, fully felt, and more appreciated, so is my frustration more apparent, my anger more present, and my own shortcomings magnified.

I went from casually working the steps and attending an online meeting once a week to
THIS.
This.... MY LIFE NOW this.

I'm working the s-anon program with a sponsor, attending s-anon meetings online once a week, attending LifeStar once a week, working my calling as an LDS Service Missionary for the ARP program specific to pornography (which means running meetings in town -but no one comes, so I don't really count that just yet), working with a counselor, a Bishop (yes, for myself), blogging, reading, keeping the kids while Danny does his LifeStar and counseling and Bishop work...
breathing this baby.
Every once in a while, we'll sit next to each other in a darkened living room and either laugh at our exhaustion or wipe tears from our cheeks.
Last night was a wipe tears kind of night.


I went to Parent/Teacher Conferences yesterday.  I sat in the hallway, waiting my turn to go in and read recovery blogs from my phone.  I checked my facebook which was full of notifications on my addiction-related secret and locked down walls.
I then went in and sat across from my daughter's teacher, and she told me that my sweet daughter -who is in FIRST grade -is reading at a FOURTH grade level.
I was pained to listened to her and she told me things I had no idea about, and while I was proud that she was the best reader in her class, it was coupled with sorrow.
I didn't know.
I wasn't aware.
I've been handing her piddly books a 2nd grader might read because I knew she was at a higher level... but I'd obviously missed the mark in a BIG way.
And her teacher knew more about my own daughter than I did.

I'm proud of her, and I'm angry.

I'm angry that my son isn't taught preschool at home like his sister was... because I work now and can't do it.
I'm angry that I'm depressed (how's that for a bundle of WRECKAGE emotion?).

This stupid recovery.
This stupid, consuming, NOT AT ALL CONVENIENT recovery!
Sucking my life away!  Sucking my youth and life away!

But later on when we're home and my oldest has a meltdown, I don't rescue or fix or shame.  I teach her about letting her yuckies out.  I teach her about writing in her journal.  I teach her about being honest with herself.  We talk about the lies we tell ourselves.  We talk about our negative emotions instead of sending them to bed.
And when it comes right down to it, I DO HAVE TIME to teach my son the ABCs and how to write his name, but we spend time whittling instead.  We put our feet in the springtime sunshine, close our eyes and talk about what we can hear.
My daughter may not be dressed in matching outfits or be bathed everyday... but she is held and rocked.  She is sung to and locked eyes with.  She is heard.

And this Recovery is just the new baby in the house.  It's taxing and overwhelming, but it's bringing more than it's taking away.
And we'll find our rhythm soon.

But I definitely don't have it right now.
I can definitely say I work my life around Recovery.

Speaking of new babies, I came across this picture yesterday and it made me smile.  Here are my ACTUAL babies, all dolled up in their blessing clothes:
 

Forgiveness is Hard

I have experienced the utter miracle of being able to forgive my husband for looking at porn -for looking and lusting and desiring other women.

It used to seem so impossible, and it was!  It was impossible for a very long time, but I always kept in on the radar.  And one day, it came.  It opened windows in my brain and let fresh air, sunshine, music, and beauty in.  Life seemed lighter, more hopeful and lovely.  It was a miracle -miracle is the ONLY word that even comes close to describing it, and even then it seems to fall a little short.

At the encouragement of my sponsor, I met with the Bishop yesterday.  She encouraged me to have regular meetings with him.  I couldn't figure out why, but since she's rhylly insightful, I always hearken to her counsel -at least to try it on for size and see if it's for me or not.

"How are you feeling about forgiveness?" He asked.
And I was stumped.  I had no answer.

I HAVE forgiven him.  I have!  It was hard, but I forgave him for the porn.

But guess what?  I'm still feeling anger, I'm still grieving.  I'm still hurting.
I still have need of forgiving my husband for other hurts -for his Jekyllness, his anger, his outbursts, his taking of my safety... I don't even want to go on with the list for reasons I'll outline below.

It was an inspired question for me.  My Bishop made it overwhelmingly and lovingly clear that he felt inspired to ask it and wanted me to know that he wasn't attempting to pressure me into something I wasn't ready for, and there was no shame in not being ready.

Forgiveness is officially back on the radar.
I'm not ready for it, and here's why:
#1) Needing for forgive means that I have been hurt which means I've been weak enough to let him hurt me again.  And by weak I mean stupid.
#2) Needing to forgive means that I'm accusing someone of hurting me.  Accusing people is not nice.  It's unChristlike.  I want to be Christlike, so I can't go around telling the Lord that his beautiful son hurt me. 

I didn't realize I felt that way until last night.
Those are my forgiveness roadblocks right now.

I listened to an interview Polly and her husband did with The Mormon Channel, and I heard them talk about Jekyll.  They described him as being an enemy of his spouse, and it really does feel that way.  My husband loves me, but I don't feel love when the other side of him comes out.  I feel... everything my enemy would WANT me to feel: unsafe, small, unloved, ridiculous...
And it brought to mind the words of Oscar Wilde.  If inner peace simply isn't reason enough to strive for forgiveness, there's always this:

I've had a lot of honest clarity lately... it's becoming abundantly clear that I've got so much work to do.  I've been working recovery for almost THREE YEARS and I have SO MUCH work to do.  I want to be depressed about it, but because I've been working recovery for three years, I can testify that I've gained more than I've lost and in a funny sort of way, I'm excited to gain more.

Last night, I faced some honesty with regards to intimacy.  It was no fun, and I'll probably cry a river into my bath this morning.
And then blog about it later.
Have I ever thanked you for always being there for me?  You're a doll.

Don't Fence Me In

"Good fences make good neighbors." ~Robert Frost

I have boundaries to keep me safe.  They fence addiction in and leave me running free.

I shouldn't have to suffer the consequences of my husband's STUFF.  It's his.

But once upon a time, he lost his temper.  I have boundaries to protect me from his temper.  I have to maintain them otherwise I'll try and pacify his temper... medicate it with whatever means I have to offer: cookies, back rubs, steak, sex.
Every man's dream, right?

I'm retraining my brain to STOP DOING THAT.  In the meantime, my stopping my attempts at medicating doesn't equate him stopping losing his temper.  That's just not how life works.
So he lost it.  I didn't medicate, and I was clear and calm about what I was not okay with.  The aftermath of the temper losing needed some clean up, and he mopped up what he could.
But he couldn't mop up one thing: he broke the latch on the driver's side of the car door when he slammed it.

Where's the boundary for THAT?  Where's the boundary that says he can drive the car with a broken door but I don't have to?  It's HIS stuff, and yet: I find myself on the catching end of it in a small way.

It may seem small, but it's taught me a very great lesson.

Boundaries are vital because I've been prone to accepting abusive behavior.  But boundaries aren't fool proof.
And THANK. GOD.

I DO thank God.
The hurt, the pain, the offense, the injustice of my husband's addiction isn't fair.  I can do everything in my power to protect myself, but pain WILL jump the boundary fence.  Pain, hurt, fear, suffering... they all have fence hopping skills.  And when I suffer at the hands of this addiction, I am given the opportunity to turn to my Savior.  I am given the opportunity to apply the healing balm of the Atonement.
I suffer at the hands of injustice, just like everyone else -including my husband.
My children will hurt me.
My neighbors will hurt me.

And, like the mother of a dear friend said, "Everyone in this life will let you down.  Even your best friends, even your siblings, and even your parents.  But there is ONE PERSON who will never let you down."

The same God I thank for the fact that boundaries are leaky fences.
Were they not, I would find myself fenced IN by boundaries: caged, cold, and distant.

This earth is a Family University, masterfully designed by a loving Father.  We are here for the ultimate education, and this involves practice which involves mistakes which involves learning which means EDUCATION.

I hurt others.
Others hurt me.
And thanks to our loving Father and Brother, and a perfect plan of Salvation and Redemption... we can be a happy family.
You and I... we can be happy, fellow scholars.
My husband and I... we can be happy, fellow scholars because of hurts and pains, because of sacrifices and service, because of the one truth that almost everything can be circumscribed to:

LOVE.

We're the Same

  

via retronaut.com

When we were first married, I used to facetiously insist that my husband and I match and share everything.
"We have to be the same," I would say, "Because we're married."

It drove him crazy, and I loved it.  I would order what he'd order at restaurants.
"Because we're married," I'd whisper and wink seductively.
And he'd roll his eyes and laugh.
"You're weird."
"Yeah, and you married me... how do you feel now?"

Yesterday, I taught a piano lesson to a grandmother.  I love teaching her because she's so full of truth and she gets as worked up over my new table as I do.
"We all need that one person,"she said to me over the F scale, "That we can swear at in anger and they will still love us without judgement because they know our hearts."

She is so right.

That person, for me, is my Savior.
But how wonderful and glorious would it be if I had another person like that... and that person were my husband?  Provided the Savior is the FIRST person I go to for safety, the idea of having my spouse be another person I can swear at and still be received with love?  The idea seems ethereal.

When my husband came home from work, I confessed to him that I was afraid to make mistakes in front of him.
"I know I have a temper... I'll try harder to..."
But I cut him off there.  That wasn't what I was driving at. 
"The thing is," I said, "I don't think you're comfortable making mistakes around me either... I think we both feel like the other will judge our actions."
And he nodded.
And then we had a moment... the kind of moment Nicholas Sparks DOESN'T expound on.  The "hey, we both suck at marriage and we suck TOGETHER" kind of moment.

Okay, so we don't suck at marriage totally... but you understand what I'm saying.  It was special.  A Dear Diary kind of thing.  Or Dear Bloggery.  Whatever.

I took his face in my hands, looked into his eyes and said, "I want to feel comfortable making mistakes in front of you."
And then we both laughed, but I wouldn't let go of his bearded face, "Say it back to me... do it.... do it..."
"I want to feel comfortable making mistakes in front of you," he echoed.
"Even if it's hard," I said.
"Even if it's hard," he echoed.
"Even if it's scary," I said.
"Even if it's scary," he echoed.
"Even if it hurts," I said.
Instantly, his eyes filled with fear.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked.
I dropped his face and laughed.

Oh, we have a long row to hoe.
We are the same... because we're married.
Turns out, I was right all along.  Sad...

Miracles

   

via nal.usda.gov

I'm not okay with others not being okay with me.

I'll go to great lengths to make sure others are okay with me at the expense of my own comfort (I hate this.  I'm working hard on this).  In my marriage, I went to great lengths to make sure my husband was okay with me at the expense of my own peace... which is miles of worse.

I wanted to be different than other couples with problems.
I wanted to be tougher than issues.

I wanted to be okay.

So I said I was.  I guess I figured that maybe if I said it enough, I would begin to feel and believe it as well because what I actually was feeling was NOT okay.
But I hated that I wasn't okay, so I escaped.  I shoved the feelings down so I wouldn't have to truly experience them.  I watched a lot of movies.  I ate a lot of junk.
I spent a lot of time online.

And when he asked me how I was doing, I would say, "I'm okay."
And I would give the same report to the Lord, "I'm okay."

For some reason, I was content to have being OK be my goal -probably because I was so torn up inside that truly being okay seemed like a dream.  I'd forgotten what it felt like to be okay.  Just plain okay.

What was I?
I was hurt.  I was angry.  I was confused.  I was reeling.

With each near-daily confession from my husband, emotions swirled around me in a chaotic panic, begging to be unleashed.
But I was stronger than my emotions.
So I resisted the strong pull to give them any credit or reign... and I said, "I'm okay."

Last night, my husband opened up to me and confessed he realized he'd been acting out on his lust addiction in other ways -as in: ways that don't include porn.
I listened.
When he finished talking, his eyes were full of terror, apprehension, shame... I could hear his thoughts.
'How is she going to take this?'

And I answered out loud, "I'm okay."
We put the kids to bed, he went to bed, and I stayed awake.  I wrote and prayed and searched for pain.
Where is it?  Where is the pain and the anger?  Shouldn't they BE here?
I'm ready to give them reign for a little while.  I'm ready to feel them, handle them, learn from them.  I won't stifle them or pretend I'm stronger than them.
I recognize they aren't facts... I recognize that they are necessary... I recognize that they have a purpose.

I close my eyes and focus on what my husband has said to me.  I breathe in and breath out.  My brain hunts for any shred of emotion.
And finds peace. 

This can't be right.
This can't be normal.
There has to be more to this.

I pray and I pray and I feel only peace and clarity and then my thoughts wander and I think about the baby's upcoming blessing, the laundry waiting to be washed the next morning, the chicken that needs to thaw.
I think about a friend of mine who is going through a miscarriage and  has a white-knuckling porn addicted husband, and I think about how I want to save her.
I think about how I want to save everyone.
I wonder WHY. 
Saving is the Savior's job.  Why would I want such a heavy responsibility?  Why would I be so pompous as to presume that I have saving abilities?
I pray, I write.
I realize and write my fears: I'm afraid of my husband cycling because it brings anger.  I'm afraid of anger.
But I can divorce the anger.  I can leave.  I don't have to be around cycling anger, I write.
My fear dissipates.
I'm afraid my friend will endure unimaginable pain unless I intervene.
But she is in God's hands, I write.
Be still, I write.
Know that He is God, I write.
Let Go and Let God, I write.

I read a talk about serving for the right reasons because I found myself serving a woman yesterday and wanting to save her from the physical pain that was ailing her.  I wanted to jump in and start controlling certain aspects of her life.
Do I serve to save? I write.
Do I serve to serve the Lord? I write.

And I read a talk that gives me clarity.

"Observing and then serving is not always convenient and doesn't always fit our own timetable...Sometimes we are tempted to serve in a way that we want to serve and not necessarily in the way that is needed at the moment...ask, "Am I doing this for the Savior, or am I doing this for me?" [and] our service will more likely resemble the ministry of the Savior."

~Linda K. Burton

 And then I sit back.  I exhale.

I take in my miracle, let myself believe in it... I let myself believe that there isn't pain around the corner.  I let myself believe that I'm not a victim.  I let myself believe that I am more than okay.

And I FEEL it because it is genuine and true.

I feel genuine and true forgiveness -I hadn't even sat down to search out forgiveness.  I sat down to absorb, to meditate, and forgiveness found it's way to me as I put my pen to paper.

I feel forgiveness, I write.  It stops me in my writing tracks... and I realize that I didn't forgive IN that moment, but that I had forgiven him months ago.  Is that possible?  Is preforgiveness actually a THING?  

I stop skeptically searching for pain, and I bask in soft peace.

Miracles make it easier to sleep.